Hearts Under Siege (Civil War Collection) (8 page)

“Come on, Thomas, let’s get down,” Alexandra said.

Thomas chuckled as he dismounted and reached up to help her down.

“This man’s in pretty bad shape. What battle did he fall in?” one of the men asked as they hauled Eli toward the house.

“We were with a supply wagon that got waylaid by the Yankees,” Thomas said. “About sixty miles or so north of Baton Rouge headed toward Vicksburg. Where are we now?”

The man hooked his thumb in the band of his pants and puffed his pipe before answering. “You still aiming in that direction?”

Thomas nodded.

“Then I’d say you’d gotten yourself a little off course. You’re nigh onto Trinity.”

Thomas stared at the man as Alexandra was ushered off toward the house.

****

Alexandra and Sarah stood on the porch of the small farmhouse, its paint peeling from natural weathering. The war touched everyone and everything.

“You come on in when you’re ready,” Sarah said glancing at the door. “I’ll get…I’m sorry, dear, what is your name?”

“Sammy.”

“I’ll get you, Miss Sammy, all spiffed up, and then your man can have a bath, too.”

“How do you know?”

Sarah smiled. “That you’re not a boy?”

Alexandra nodded.

“Those clothes don’t fool me. And then there’s the way Thomas looks at you.”

Alexandra chose to save that comment to think about later. “Then you should call me Alexandra.”

“Very well, Alexandra. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble, Miss Moore. We certainly don’t want to interrupt your get-together.”

“Nonsense. You’ll join us. Any soldier of the Confederacy is a friend of ours.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Alexandra and Sarah entered the sparse, but clean, farmhouse. It reminded Alexandra of the cottage they had spent the night in earlier, and a tug of longing pulled on her heart. Those people murdered on their own property had probably been just as kind as these.

Alexandra watched as a couple of men dragged Eli inside and placed him in a room with two small beds, one with a cornhusk doll resting on a pillow—a child’s room? Sarah ushered her into a large bedroom.

“I need to heat water in the kitchen.” Sarah disappeared through the door and turned left down the corridor.

Alexandra went to the petite window and watched Thomas help an elderly man unsaddle and brush down his horse.

Sarah returned moments later with a platter of bread and cheese. Alexandra gasped in delight.

“Now, don’t eat too fast,” Sarah warned. “You look like you haven’t had anything in a while.”

“We ate last night,” Alexandra said. “I guess I’m just thin.” She reached for a chunk of bread and plopped it into her mouth.

“You’re just fine. And like I used to tell my Joseph, God rest his soul…” She took a breath as she made the sign of the cross. “…a woman shouldn’t have to wear all them skirts when she’s working. I don’t see nothing wrong with wearing a pair of pants around the house.”

“I’m sorry,” Alexandra said, pausing in her devouring of the food. She swallowed and gazed at Sarah as a sad wave of sympathy washed over her. “Was your husband lost in the war?”

“The Battle of Shiloh.” Settling into the topic, she sat. “I’m getting along though. My only regret is that I didn’t have one of his children. Someone with his eyes or even the funny little walk he had.”

Sarah laughed as she dabbed the corners of her eyes. Alexandra sought for a way to distract her. If she didn’t stop, she’d have both of them bawling.

“Miss Sarah, a wicked soldier shot Thomas in the arm. Maybe I should tend to it.”

“I noticed his injury, blood oozing through the dressing. He’ll be in directly, and I’ll put some fresh bandages on it.” She winked. “We can’t let on with the men folk. They like to pretend nothing hurts ’em.”

Alexandra laughed.

“What’s all this, now?” Thomas asked, coming to stand in the doorway.

“Just woman talk,” Sarah said. “I’ll get the kettle.”

“Let me,” Thomas suggested.

“Don’t even think it. You’re a guest,” Sarah said, swatting him aside as she went to see to the water.

Once alone, Thomas gazed at Alexandra. “These people are being too kind,” he said. “As soon as we’ve eaten something and cleaned up a bit, we’ll have to move on.”

“I’m staying the night,” Alexandra said, breaking off a bite of bread.

“No, you’re not,” Thomas retorted. “You’ve got food,” he added. Reaching around her, he grabbed a handful of bread and cheese.

“How is your wound?”

He shrugged and then winced.

Sarah came struggling into the room with a large cauldron of steaming water. She allowed Thomas to take it from her and dump it into a little tub that sat proudly in the middle of the room.

“You’re a little taller than my Joseph was, but I believe his clothes will fit you. I’ll fetch one of my dresses for you, too, Alexandra. Those pants are just fine, but they won’t do for our celebration.”

Thomas picked up the empty cauldron and headed out the door before Sarah could protest. “I’ll bring in some more water,” he said over his shoulder.

Sarah smiled. “He’ll enjoy himself, after all, I’ll wager.”

“What are you celebrating, Mrs. Moore?” Alexandra asked, wondering what these women, children, and old men, many of them in mourning black, could possibly have to celebrate.

“Miss Kate and Mr. Tom went off and got themselves hitched.” She nodded toward the window in the direction of the fiddler. “That’s Mr. Tom there. He insisted on playing even though it’s his wedding day. And that’s Miss Kate over there dusting off little Matthew.”

Alexandra smothered a gasp. Mr. Tom was ninety if he was a day and as frail as a willow. Miss Kate wore her years easily though, with the gray hair and wrinkles of someone’s grandmother.

“Miss Kate lost her husband before the fighting even started,” Sarah continued. “And Mr. Tom, well, he never did get married. Some say he’s been waiting for Miss Kate since she was fourteen.”

“He waited all that time. How sweet. How sad,” Alexandra said.

“Nonetheless, he’s got her now. There’s soap over there on the dresser and a towel. Don’t let your water get cold, now. I’ll be right on back with your dress directly.”

Alexandra glanced at the water in the tub, just large enough to sit in with her knees tucked up. Only a few inches deep, would the water be enough to bathe in? And what about her hair? She sat on a chair. Thomas burst into the room with a refill of water.

“Here you are, Princess,” he said, dumping the water into the tub.

“How did you know I was dressed?” Heavens. He didn’t even knock. She could have been sitting in the tub.

“I knew you’d want more water. Give me another ten minutes, and I’ll have the tub full.”

“How are you heating the water so fast?”

“An old army trick,” he said with a wink.

****

As he returned to the kitchen, Thomas heaved a sigh of relief having found her fully clothed. He couldn’t explain why he’d felt the need to invade her privacy. Alexandra would get her way about staying here for the night. This miffed him. They’d just gotten rid of that Yankee, and now here were more people standing in the way of their being alone.

The large fireplace could accommodate three oversized iron kettles at once. With roaring flames heating the water, Thomas reminded himself to add a cord of wood to the list of items he planned to reimburse Sarah for before leaving.

Damn, but his brain was going soft. Every thought revolved around Alexandra. He would forego all these comforts for the chance to be alone with her again. Shaking his head, he took hold of himself. They were in the midst of a war. It was no time to have his brain turn to mush.

Trembling with agitation, Thomas barged back into the bedroom and dumped the last two kettles of water into the tub. Alexandra watched him with a lifted brow.

“That’s all of it for now,” he said. “Hopefully you can manage with that much.”

“It’s more than enough, thank you,” she said.

Wordlessly, he left the room, all but slamming the door behind him. Goodness, but she was spoiled, just sitting there while he brought water for her bath—and him injured in one arm. Who did she think he was?

His throat was dry.

Damn.

She got under his skin, leaving him off balance.

Chapter Eight

“I’m sorry, Captain Munroe, we don’t have any spirits,” Sarah informed Thomas a few minutes later.

She stood in the kitchen, looking calm and collected, while he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Surely somebody here has a bottle of whiskey stashed away.”

Sarah shook her head. “We’re God-fearing people here. We don’t hold with liquor.”

Thomas liked her less and less by the minute. “I’m really hoping you can give me something for this headache.”

“Come on inside, and I’ll give you an herb drink. It always helped my old man.”

“I don’t want a damned herb,” Thomas mumbled, as he followed Sarah inside.

“But first we need to clean up that wound of yours.”

He sat and allowed her to remove the bandage Alexandra had applied.

“Looks like she took good care of you,” Sarah said with a touch of wistfulness, her eyes taking on a dreamy, faraway look.

“She did.”

“She’s a beautiful girl.”

He didn’t answer.

“You probably haven’t noticed though.”

He laughed.

She patted the edge of the bandage and nodded, inspecting her work. A faint scent of alcohol wafted from the cotton. He remembered the bottle of whiskey in his saddlebag Alexandra had used to clean his wound.

“I’ll be back,” Thomas said, and bounded down the stairs, out the door, and toward the barn.

He found his saddlebag lying neatly across a crate, next to the stall where his horse rested. He tore into it, only to groan in misery. The bottle rested against the leather with a half an inch of amber liquid pooling at the bottom—not even a mouthful remained. Alexandra had poured the better part of a bottle of good whiskey into his chest and back. Well, he supposed he could be assured of not getting gangrene. At the moment he’d trade a little infection for a mere swallow of something to ease his torment.

Sarah was waiting for him on the porch when he returned to the house, and he followed her into the kitchen to get his herb concoction.

“You know, alcohol won’t cure that bug you’ve gotten a hold of,” she said.

“What bug?” he asked, in some alarm. Now that he considered it, he hadn’t had much of an appetite lately.

“Anybody can see it.” She stared into his eyes with a sympathetic expression.

“What bug are you talking about?” he asked, placing a hand to his forehead.

Sarah broke into laughter. He narrowed his eyes; then she shook her head. She leaned forward, raising a brow. “You’re in love with her,” she said.

“What! Who?” he exploded. The chair fell backwards onto the floor as he stood up.

“You can pretend all you want, but it’s written all over your face when you look at her.” She shook her head again, making tsking noises.

“You’re daft,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. What could she possibly know anyway? “I hardly know the girl.”

Sarah laughed again and handed him a cup of something green and viscous. Thomas sniffed it, backed away, and thrust it back to her. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Suit yourself, but hear me out, Thomas Munroe,” Sarah said, resting a hand on her hip. “Affairs of the heart aren’t bound by the confines of time. Nor are they to be taken for granted. Love is a gift, not a punishment. Accept it and cherish it with everything you’re made of.”

Well then, he’d do it to shut her up. He lifted the vile liquid to his lips. He took one swallow and spat it out across the kitchen table. Shooting her an evil look, he slammed the cup down and stalked out of the kitchen, mumbling about women and witches and the indiscernible traits of each.

Her laughter followed after him as he made his way out the back door and across the porch. He took the back steps then dashed toward the music and the smell of grilled meat. His shoulder throbbed. His head ached. His heart hurt. He would not deny his powerful attraction to Alexandra.

****

Alexandra dried off and slipped on a flowered print, green dress Sarah had given her. She lifted her hand to her neck and dragged her fingers across the row of lace around the collar.

Not what I usually wear.

She reached down and tied the sash around her back. She slid her hands down the gown’s center; its waist area could cover two of her. She dropped her gaze and turned an exposed foot. The gown fell to ankle-level, an inch or so shorter than those fashionable on her. She sighed then straightened her posture, inhaling deeply of the clean scent. It felt wonderful.

She picked up a comb from the dresser and began to pluck at knots in her freshly washed hair. For the first time since cutting it, she wished for long hair again. She wanted to be pretty for Thomas. She wanted him to put his arms around her and leave behind his surly mood. He needed rest and food to recover from his wound, so she wouldn’t hold his bad mood against him.

No longer having any interest in the party, she went out to the back porch and sat on a rocker. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d been right all along. Of course he couldn’t find her attractive. Anyone who could so easily pass for a boy couldn’t possibly snag the interest of a dashing man like Thomas Munroe. She shoved down the anger and the hurt and drew a deep breath, determined not to worry about him. He would serve the purpose of getting her to Vicksburg and General Pemberton. Then she could go her way and put him behind her.

“Miss Alexandra, there you are,” a tall, thin boy of twelve or thirteen called as he bounded up the steps.

She pictured him breaking female hearts someday with that dimpled grin he now offered her.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, extending his hand with an elegant bow.

Her brow inched up in surprise.

“It’s nice of you to offer, Mr.—?”

“Please, call me Cam.”

“Well, Cam, it’s nice of you to offer, but I have a headache.”

“Then come have some food and something to drink. You’ll feel better, and then we can dance.” He took her hand and pulled her from the chair. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

“You’re very persuasive,” she said. Her despondency lifted as she followed the boy down the steps.

“You’re far too beautiful to be sitting all alone,” he said.

You’re too old for your age.
Alexandra laughed as bittersweet memories of being courted before the war floated through her mind.

Cam piled fried ham, baked beans, and potato salad on a plate for her. The meat sizzled, and steam rose from the beans.

“Do you live around here?” Alexandra asked, curious about this lad who didn’t seem to fit in with these plain country folk with his superior garments.

She noted the fine cut and quality of his clothes, looking beyond the holes at the knees of his trousers and the shiny area around the elbows where the material had worn thin. Everyone else here wore homespun and home sewn attire.

“My folks live over a ways,” he said, nodding in the direction of the east. A wide path cut through the thick trees. “My pa and two brothers are in the army, which leaves me and Ma running the plantation. If Ma didn’t need protecting, I’d be fighting Yanks myself,” he said, with a faint twinge of resentment.

“That’s a big job for one man—running a plantation and protecting your mother,” Alexandra said, smiling to herself at his apparent youth.

“Yeah, I reckon it is,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “How about you? What are you doing traveling in the middle of the war?”

“I’m on my way to stay with my aunt. She needs someone to stay with her, too.” She would have to remember to use that angle with Thomas.

They took their plates and settled on a crate in the shade of the barn wall. Laughing together, they ate and watched the dancers sweep around the courtyard to the tune of Tom’s fiddle. The bridegroom’s music reflected his animated expression.

****

Thomas’s shoulder still stung but offered a tingling, healing sensation resulting from the poultice and clean bandage. The bath hadn’t hurt either in making his mood lighter. Perhaps he’d been wrong about Alexandra. He liked her, damn it. Why should he deny himself her company just because he feared things might get messy? It didn’t have to be complicated.

He took a piece of fresh apple pie and sat down on the barren ground out of the way of the dancers, thinking. War twisted things up. He watched in surprise as women danced with each other, making the lack of men all the more apparent. Only one old man remained out there, but the women weren’t going to let that stop them from enjoying themselves. The whitehaired gentleman glanced at the various women, perhaps trying to decide which of them he would dance with. Thomas shook his head and finished eating his pie.

****

They traveled in haste now that they no longer dragged Eli along behind them. The inconveniences suffered were worth gaining someone to look after Eli.

Thomas still believed they should be going in the opposite direction, and only against his better judgment did they continue on the road to Vicksburg. He shifted his position on the horse. Alexandra’s hair tickled his nose. For the hundredth time he noted the strange vagaries of the situation which caused a proper young Southern woman to so easily lean against a man who only a few days ago was a perfect stranger. And what about the lack of a chaperone? War did that to people. Priorities shifted and refocused, forever altered.

“I think I should take you home,” Thomas blurted.

Alexandra jumped and jerked her head from his shoulder. “No, I have to go to Vicksburg.”

“The war is concentrating there on the river.” He lifted his hand and gestured toward the west.

“How do you know?”

“It’s a key position,” he said. “Besides, I can feel it,” he added, unable to resist taunting her.

“I don’t care. I have to get to my aunt.”

“I’m certain your aunt has vacated the area if necessary and is long gone to a safe place.”

“No, she won’t leave her home.”

“Stubbornness runs in your family, eh?”

“I am not stubborn,” she said with a haughty lift of her chin.

“No?” Thomas said, with laughter.

“No! I know what I want. You’re the one who is being intractable.”

“Oh, I’m being intractable, am I?”

“It means unmanageable.”

“I know what it means.”

“Then stop doing it.”

“Fine. I’m taking you home,” he said and turned the horse around.

Alexandra grasped the reins and struggled to pull on them. “What are you doing?”

“You’re only going to confuse the horse,” he pointed out.

“I demand that you turn around at once,” she said firmly, but she released the reins.

“Sorry, my dear, I’ve made up my mind.”

“Go back if you want to. I’m not going with you.” She pulled away from him, and in her struggle, came perilously close to slipping from the horse’s side. Thomas’s arm swooped around her waist. She struggled against his hold, but he pulled her up and locked her arms at her sides with one arm. With the other hand, he guided the horse.

“Don’t make me tie you up.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Thomas could tell by the outrage in her voice that no one else ever had dared.

“I would dare,” he warned. “Keep yourself still and your butt on the horse.”

Her body relaxed against his chest, putting him on alert. He suspected her easy compliance. What did she plan?

“What are you thinking of?” he asked

She turned her head, and her lips parted. She jerked her head back around. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me or not. I’m merely being acquiescent.”

“That’s what bothers me,” he said. Suddenly consumed with an overwhelming inclination, he reached around and grabbed her chin, making her face him again. He tilted her head an inch, bent toward her, and brought his lips to hers, kissing her with tenderness. The urge to overpower her fled him, replaced by a need to coddle and protect.

Protect. That sent a shudder of fright through him. He wanted to protect her from himself.

****

Alexandra dug her hands into the saddle blanket. Her senses flooded with sensation. Her mouth tingled beneath the rough onslaught of his day-old growth of beard. She forgot her surroundings. Time ceased to exist. He caressed the back of her head, his fingers sliding through her hair at a snail’s pace in contrast to the rapid beating of her heart. He groaned and pulled her against him. His heartbeat echoed her own. A thrill spiraled the length of her.

He released her lips but not his hold on her. They sat there on the walking horse, and she took a breath, collecting her thoughts. His surliness. His demands. His insistence that he take her home. She knew not how long they had traveled before she remembered they were going in the wrong direction. His kissing her didn’t change her mind. If he thought he could just sweep her off her feet and get her to do whatever he wanted, he was sadly mistaken.

****

The man sat crouched before the dying embers of his campfire in a forest clearing and brushed the sleeve of his tattered gray uniform…

The bitch would pay. Even in the silence of solitude, the jeers echoed through his head. Oftentimes he wished he hadn’t recovered at all. The hatred had built in him—growing until he nearly burst from it. Little Miss High and Mighty hadn’t seen the last of him.